The Dawning
by butterflyapple
Summary: A seventeen year old Sam comes to realize why being Dean sometimes royally stinks. With Dean seriously ill, all his responsibilities suddenly fall to Sam, including paying the rent Dad forgot, caring for his brother, and making sure his grades aren't slipping too much. Maybe it's too much for one so young, but winter comes nonetheless. Teenchesters! Sick!Dean Caring!Sam


**#A/N** First of all, as cliche as it may sound, this is my _first published story,_ so please be kind to me and my horrible English.

**But! **

Please do point out any mistake there is (I'm sure there's lots of them, but neither me not my friend who quickly read the piece through have the true capacity to see or 'feel' them out, like a native speaker would.)

I am aware that 'gonna' is not by any means a right way to write 'going to'. It fits with the story though, which is why it stuck.

Second; while I have written other kinds of fiction before, this is the first time I tried anything like this on. I'm used to write in past tense, and kind of in a formal way. This is.. very different, but also very enjoyable to write.

This is kind of heavy to read. My friend called it "_Tragic and cozy_". I'll leave it to the reader to say if it's fitting.

I warn for Winchester language, and ... I don't even know what to call it. Some disturbing themes might fit, as in illnesses and the aftermath of prolonged bad health, among others.

**Have a good reading!**

* * *

It's winter, and Sam thinks the world can't suck much harder. It's not even Christmas yet, and the state they're in hasn't had a week of white since the 19th century. He's glad though, that Dad choose to rent an apartment instead of a cow webbed motel stinking of mildew. For once at least their supposed home isn't that bad, by Winchester standards.

And they have a fenced yard. Sure, it belongs to the complex, but to Sam's notice, nobody ever goes there.

Dean's on the couch, fast asleep for once. Not plunged in a restless slumber, but honestly sleeping. His brother's been feeling off since October, but only spoke of it when the cold turned so bad the hospital said it had been a close one. With some serious pills, and a scary shit glare form the doctor, Dean had been sent home ordered to rest only. It's only middle of November, and Sam's starting to worry.

Worry about the rent (Dad's gonna be back when the rent's due. He said so.) worry about the two-man job his dad went on alone cause Dean's out for the count, worry about a school Sam's been neglecting for every shift at the diner he's being offered.

He sees Christmas coming, dawning in the calendar as the days grows shorter and the shadows longer.

And Sam works. He does double shifts to cover the rent, work out so he's fit for the next hunt, and what hours isn't killed by any of the above, he either studies or sleeps. Or gets waken up by a delirious Dean, shouting in his sleep.

Sam starts to realise that Dean's been doing all of this since he must have been thirteen. That's about when Dean started missing school and wearing his father's oversized leather jacked like an armour suit. Sam can't imagine doing all of this a few weeks more, let alone for years.

It's winter and it's cold. Dean's out on the couch, warm form layers of clothing and a raging fever. It's not too bad yet, Sam's been checking, making sure Dean's not about to need another car jacking to avoid permanent damage to the nutshell he calls a brain.

Sam on the other hand, is freezing as he walks to school. There's a test he knows he's gonna fail, and a group project thing he's gonna miss when he leaves early for a shift. The rent's due soon, and there's still a hole much needed to cover before the official pay day. They need to eat too, or at least Sam does, as Dean's still not really eating as he should. Sam feels like he should worry more than he does, but he's only resigned as he watches his brother at best poke at today's dinner with his fork. Doesn't matter what he cooks either. Dean's not gonna eat if Dad's not forcing it down his throat, so Sam's not gonna push it until Dad's there. In the meantime, Sam does what he can with vitamin pills and high calorie bars, cause that's about the only thing Dean will eat.

Sam can start feel it all wear down on him. He sees people look at him in school with concern, and hey, maybe his clothes are getting just a bit too big. That's good though, means he won't have to buy new clothes too soon cause he outgrew them.

It's Christmas, and Sam's sitting by the couch keeping his brother's fever down with a rag and an open window. He can see the world celebrate out there, and he can see a war raging in his brother's eyes. When the delusions are at worst, Sam understands that at some point, he needs to block out Dean's pleas, cause once he hears them, Sam can't not have heard them. It's a side of Dean he doesn't want to know. All the fear, the insecurity, a so complete lack of self worth Sam's almost scared of the dark abyss he glimpses in the heat of Dean's fever.

Sam works, he trains, he studies. Sometimes he sleeps, too, but these days it more of an optional thing rather than something compulsory and a basic human need. He eats a lot though, to compensate. Can't loose too much weight, cause then he's not gonna be fit for hunting.

Dad's back, eight days late. The rent's been due, and paid for, so they can stay another month. Dean's not gonna be happy, if he's aware enough to complain. Sam has lately noticed Dean's gradual recovery. It's slow, just as the doctors said. Too weak to fight off the infection, breathing already off due to chest trauma, and walking around in only his father's jacket in North Montana's October chill. It had been bound to end badly, Sam just hadn't been aware just how off course his brother had been until he just wouldn't wake up one day to drive him to school.

There had been lots of scary shit moments in Sam's life. Finding his brother on the bedroom floor, unresponsive and barely breathing, was top five scariest shit, ever. And Sam's been up against a pack of ghouls, trapped in a Wendigo's nest and interrogated by a psychopath ghost cop. He'd take the ghouls, the Wendigo, and the scary ass cop together, any day, not to see his brother burning with fever on the floor. It had been middle October, and they hauled ass as fast Dean's been well enough to be moved. South, to warmth and less chilly Montana air.

It's winter, and Dad's back. It's been a long time since they have been together and not fighting for this amount of time. Both hover by Dean's side, and Dad's forcing food down both their throats just as Sam had known he would.

It's winter, and Dean's getting better by the day. And then Dad's off again, this time carrying Sam with him for a three man job up Helena, Montana. Dean's big enough to care for himself a few days, Dad says, and Sam, for his sanity's sake, agrees even though he knows it will end with Dean damn near a jacked car and a two speeding tickets and one too many ventilators.

They kill the pack of black dogs, and exorcise their souls before they can turn into ghost black dogs too, just for the sake of it. Sam missed two days of school, and a shift down the dinner. No worries, Dad says, I got it covered.

Back in the state that hasn't seen snow in decades, they pick up Dean and their stuff, and then they're off to Bobby's.

Sam's never been more tired in his whole life. Dean's asleep in the back seat, looking as haggard as Sam feels. He still can't wrap his head around that this is what Dean's been doing all along. The shifts, the extra training and hunting chores, and still not completely messing up school, Sam knows that Dean, despite his grades, is scary smart when he tries. Could have been top of his class and off to some classy collage hadn't it been for the hunting.

That's the moment Sam's gonna remember for the rest of his life, the moment he realises how much of all this shit he can blame on his father.

It's winter, and they celebrate new years at Bobby's. Sam looks at the pale snow and sees only the skin of his bother that October morning. Dean's sleeping, resting like he should. Sam just sits in the couch and reads old books. No school to worry about yet, only some stuff to catch up on. Sam can be scary smart too, if he tries, so he doesn't bother with the school stuff yet.

Just spends time enjoying being Sam, and not being Dean.

It's winter, and Sam has spent more then a month being his brother and pulling all the weight Dean's been carrying since adolescence. It scary how old he feels, how his bones creek and skin stretches. Scary how Sam at sixteen can feel old as time itself, when he's only been doing this shit for a couple of weeks.

Sam huddles close to his brother, up in their room. When they were small, really small, Bobby had tried giving them their separate rooms, but as the either or both boys kept sneaking into the other's room, Bobby ended up moving both beds to a slightly larger, shared room. Now Sam felt his brother breath on his bare skin, and hears it's only slightly raspy quality. Dean's asleep, and soon Sam's too.

Soon, it's not winter anymore, and the boy have moved on. Moved to the next hunt and to the next school. Dean's working again, as much as Sam and Dad allow him. Dean's a sneaky bastard though, and Sam's keeping an eye on the number of layers on his brother's body. More the layers, the more concerned he should be, Sam learnt early in the days. More layers meant Dean had more to hide, and Dean hiding is never good.

Dean's 21, and he's invincible, should one ask him. Sam knows differently, seeing pale skin instead of white sand. Dean's been his brother since forever, but somehow Sam's never going to see his brother in the same light ever again. Behind all those layers, behind that cracked grin and swagger steps, there's darkness lurking and it's some serious scary shit Sam doesn't really want to knows but knows non the less. Dean's all manly and macho on the outside, but he's falling apart as fast no one's looking. It's black, it's ugly, and some day Sam's not sure him or Dad's going to be enough to keep all that wrapped up and buried.

It's not winter anymore, and Sam's secretly looking for collage already, even as there's still a year left. Doesn't matter though. Sam wants out. Now. He has seen enough of all this shit, of broken brothers and bastard fathers.

Sam's grades are getting better, now when Dean's doing all the work again. Dad's gone God knows where, hunting this week's scary ass shit, leaving Sam seething and Dean moping cause he didn't get to tag along. Sam can't understand it. It's not an algebra problem that needs solving or an essay that needs dissolving. That's easy; picking at surface nuisances until it resolves around him like fireworks at forth of July. Sam can see how it unfolds around him like confetti, sees not only everyday school dilemmas but the definitive puzzle that is his life and how the pieces comes together and falls apart. A part of him knows that his jigsaw of life is so very different to that of his brother and father, so grudgingly different in what is the most basic foundation.

Sam is not his father. He's not Dean.

When next winter comes and goes, followed by dry cracking rain and then succeeded by ever gray summer, Sam stares down the paper of his salvation. It's fancy and official and beautiful and lots of things Sam 's not really been a part of but now is. His hands are shaking when he hides the papers in the bottom of his singular duffle under outgrown hoodies and pants full of holes. Soon, those will be replaced by cheap but nice trousers and shirts in stripes. No more boots and too cold jackets, no more nights in suspension knowing his brother gave him his own warmth in clothing only to freeze himself come dawn.

Sam's tired.

And then he's off to his future, heart heavy with a nameless guilt but now light with the freedom and endless possibilities. At first he can't stop picturing Dean's hurt as the door came shut behind him, the imagines hunting him in his dreams until Sam can't ignore the calling mobile phone any longer.

By then it's winter and he hears the alarming rasp that is his brother's voice. Sam only allows the most briefest of words. At the other end he knows Dean's tired and probably ill, even though years of masking it's sound Sam can hear though his brothers smiling lies just as he once had a few years earlier. Feels like an eternity. So, so long time ago.

"Bye Dean." he says, and the illusion shatters and fall apart at the seams above him.

Sam doesn't dream of hurt eyes or pained whimpers though a phone line after that.

Instead he sheds his coat and finds his life once more in the books of Stanford.

That, until a window is shattered, and in come the demons.


End file.
